The Reason Why
by BlondiezHere
Summary: In "A Good Day to Die Hard", John McClane is in Russia to see his estranged son, Jack. He swears he's only there on vacation. In this "deleted scene" one-shot, he answers Jack's question as to why he *really* went to Moscow...


Being in the good graces of the CIA certainly had its perks. After a swarm of agents had descended upon Moscow to clean up the Chagarin/Komorov mess, they'd offered up a private jet to fly him and Jack back to the U.S.

Personally, all the brass and leather was a bit much for a blue-collar guy like him. He'd have been perfectly content being sent home on a commercial flight even if he had to sit in coach—only thing he cared about was not getting stuck by the toilets.

John McClane looked up as his companion for this trip stepped out of the jet's bathroom. His son, John Junior—or Jack, as he liked to be called—was a CIA agent. That fact still blew his mind. With all the trouble he'd gotten into as a teenager, one would've expected that all doors to any sort of law enforcement job would have been closed to Jack. But then, maybe that was precisely why they'd recruited him. He not only knew how to get into trouble, he had a knack for getting out of it. That trait had served them both well just a few hours ago.

A number of cuts and bruises marred Jack's face and neck, and John knew there were more in places his clothing covered. He knew that there were three stitches holding closed a hole in his left side, where a piece of rebar had impaled him during their fall through some construction scaffolding. Thank God that rebar had only gone in a couple inches and hadn't hit anything vital—Holly would have killed him had anything happened to Jack, whether the fault was his or not. But their son was alive, because he was a lot like his old man: He was tough. He was a survivor.

And judging by the expression he wore, still pleased to be in his company. John welcomed this reprieve for however long it lasted. Though the process had begun—after far too many years—he knew that the rocky relationship he shared with his son was far from mended. They still had a lot of hard work ahead fixing all the broken fences between them.

But hey, the tired smile Jack threw his way was a definite improvement over having a gun shoved in his face.

Jack dropped heavily into the beige leather seat facing his, leaning his head back with his eyes closed and letting loose a soft groan as he did so. He breathed in and out steadily for a minute or two before suddenly raising his head and looking across the few feet that separated them.

"Dad, can I ask you a question?"

John returned his son's steady gaze. "You can ask me anything, you know that."

Drawing a breath, Jack asked, "Why _did_ you go to Moscow? I mean, I know you weren't there to interfere in my mission, that you didn't fuck it up on purpose or anything. You didn't even know I was CIA—Mom and Lucy were just as clueless. And I recognize that we kinda bonded over the whole kicking scumbag ass thing…"

"If you want to call risking life and limb for God and country 'bonding', sure," John said with a snort.

Grinning briefly, the younger McClane continued. "But you never said why you were in Russia."

"Yeah I did. I told you I was on vacation."

"And I know that's complete bullshit. Sure you kept saying that over and over, but you also said something to Yuri at one point about being there for another reason," Jack pressed. "So what was it?"

With a slight frown, John cocked his head and looked at his namesake pointedly. "Do you really even need to ask, Jack?"

When Jack remained silent, he sighed. "Look, I know you think I'm a complete fuck-up. I guess in some ways I am. I mean, obviously I'm lousy at the husband thing—I tried for years to make it work with your mom and failed, no matter how much I loved her. And I tried to be a good dad to you and Lucy, I really did. I just thought that working a lot was the best way to provide for my family. It was all I knew how to do. But apparently I failed at that, too: You both started using your mom's maiden name, until Russia you hadn't spoken to me since the last time I saw you—which was more than three years ago—and it's only recently Lucy's been able to look at me without a sneer on her face."

"Saving her from a psychopath by shooting yourself in the shoulder probably has something to do with it," Jack pointed out.

"Maybe," John agreed. Then he looked long and hard at the now-grown son he barely knew. "You were in trouble—hell, you'd been arrested for _murder_. Where else do you think I'd want to be, son? Did you honestly believe I didn't give a shit about you? That I could ignore the fact you were at risk of spending the rest of your life rotting away in a Russian prison…or worse? Why else would I be in Russia if not for you?"

Jack blinked rapidly and looked away from him. John sighed again. "Even as screwed up as my relationship with you kids has been, you and Lucy are my children, Jack. I wouldn't have done what I did for her—wouldn't have taken a sudden vacation to Mother-fucking-Russia—if I didn't love you both more than my own life."

He leaned forward then, and waited until Jack's gaze returned to his before he said, with all the conviction of a father's love, "There is nothing—not a damn thing—that I wouldn't do for you or your sister, whether you're speaking to me or not. If you don't believe another word that comes out of my mouth, believe that."

John sat back again, pretending he hadn't just seen his son's eyes beginning to mist over. As glad as he was to have finally made a breakthrough with Jack, why the hell did it have to be a near-death experience that lead them to it?

Drawing another breath, he released it slowly as he mimicked Jack's earlier pose, leaning his head back against the cushy headrest with his eyes closed. It was a long flight back to La Guardia, so he may as well get some sleep.

Except he couldn't resist getting in a jab, and said, "That's three, by the way."

A snort sounded across from him. "Three what?" Jack asked.

"Three times you've called me Dad," John replied.

"I have not called you Dad three times, John," came the snarky reply.

"Yeah you have," the older McClane countered, opening his eyelids a fraction to look at his son. "First time was when I stepped in front of that van you were driving—I didn't hear you say it but I read your lips, so that counts. Second time was at Chernobyl and you were all worried I'd drowned in that pool. Third was just a couple minutes ago, when you asked me if you could ask me a question."

He closed his eyes again as Jack sputtered, "I did not call you Dad at Chernobyl. You were hearing things, remember?"

"I remember hearing you call me Dad, that's what I remember."

Jack scoffed to cover up what John knew was the start of a laugh. "You need to get your hearing checked, old man. All those falls we took must've knocked your ear drums loose."

"You can deny it all you want, but I know what I heard," John teased.

"You're living in a fantasy world, John."

John sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted to a more comfortable position. "Yup—a fantasy world where my son calls me Dad and admits he's a McClane… Imagine that."

He fell asleep to the sound of Jack's laughter.


End file.
